We Belong

by Evie Bennet

  A door (the bathroom door?) opened in the back and I snatched my bag and dashed out the front before anyone could see me.

  He certainly couldn’t catch me like that, not without realizing I’d been sitting at the café the whole time, staring at him and not saying hello. Maybe I could pretend I just came in? But the woman behind the counter might give my ploy away.

  I pushed my wrists against my forehead.

  He didn’t see me. Things were still okay, and I could always try again tomorrow if I was feeling less cowardly.

  Hot tears zigzagged down my cheeks as shame washed over me. I was such a baby over nothing. He didn’t even see me! Nobody knew about my obsession except maybe the people who served me. They probably didn’t suspect anything out of the ordinary.

  Strangers saw my blonde hair and big smile and thought everything was easy.

  I couldn’t even talk to Reed. I couldn’t think of a good note to leave. Why did I think we were meant to be? Because we liked writing? Because he was handsome? Why would he even want to talk to a crazy person like me?

  I was so stupid to think that he could be different and even more ashamed I thought that I could be.

  Love wasn’t in the cards for me.

  I couldn’t handle the emotion or even recognize it properly, according to—well, everybody. Even Frank tried to warn me.

  I didn’t even know Reed, really. He was a passionate fantasy.

  I needed reality.

  The heaviness of failure weighed on my shoulders. The book I’d accidentally absconded with from the coffee shop sat on top of my bag. How stupid was I? I would take it back soon. They probably wouldn’t be mad. And if I saw him again...

  Maybe he liked my note.

  Maybe he hated it.

  Maybe he replied to it? Then he might’ve gone to the bathroom again to see if I’d come back.

  Oh God, he might have thought I abandoned him.

  Scrambling to my desk, I opened my computer and pulled up an app buried in its depths. It took me approximately half an hour, but I hacked into Reed’s laptop using the IP address. Relief flooded my chest as his familiar wallpaper and Word doc popped up. He was writing right then.

  It felt like I was inside his brain.

  Riveted, I watched the words appear on my screen.

  As fascinating as they were, a needling urge to use a red pen made my fingers twitch. Why did he use so many semicolons? Passive voice. Oh, but beautiful imagery. So visceral. So much blood. I thought of his lip as I traced my own with my tongue, reaching for the cotton ball I’d kept safe in a baggie in my drawer.

  There. Soft. His blood was like mine. He wasn’t scared of it, nor of me in that moment. We connected. He trusted me to help him, he trusted me with his blood. I had to hold onto that. There was nothing to be afraid of.

  I closed my eyes, trying to ground myself. Even if I was in his brain, how could I be fair and let him into mine?

  Because it ought to be fair. We couldn’t be on uneven footing. I could call him. I had his number from the shop. Yeah. Maybe. But wasn’t that weird?

  When a guy was interested, he usually made an effort.

  That’s what Frank Knope told me, but he’d also said there were always conditions because sometimes they were shy or only wanted to hook up and didn’t take things as seriously as the other person.

  It had only been a few days, I reasoned. Maybe Reed needed some encouragement.

  I shouldn’t worry about it.

  It would be nice to have a friend.

  I needed to stop while I was ahead.

  My fingers curled around the cotton, condensing it into a rock. Taking deep breaths, I waited until the words stopped. The cursor blinked at me expectantly.

  I called him, the screen flashing steadier than my heartbeat. It went to voicemail, something blank. Maybe he didn’t want to be interrupted.

  The beep didn’t give me time to dispute it.

  I should hang up.

  “Reed? Hi. It’s Betty, from the shop. Just calling to check on your bike and your writing. Hope all is well. Bye.”

  I didn’t leave a phone number. Shit. He would just have to look up the call history, right? He could still call back. Or maybe I should…

  I threw my phone to the couch to remove temptation, twirling and tugging strands of my hair almost to the point of tears.

  Something had to happen.

  Either the words would return, or…

  My phone rang, a chorus from the angels. I bolted upright and scrambled to the couch to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi. Betty?”

  It was him! He screened his calls! Oh what a smart, wonderful man!

  “Yeah! Hi! Um, hi. It’s a pleasure to hear from you.”

  “This is Reed. Not sure if that’s obvious, or...” He sounded like he was in good humor, which meant he wasn’t freaked out, at least.

  “I just figured…” I trailed off, glancing at the blinking cursor, the descriptions of pain and anger on the screen. “Maybe we’d be lucky enough to be thinking of each other at the same time.”

  “You did just call me.” That was true. Maybe our connection was nothing more than two passing ships, I thought despondently. “So your master plan kinda worked on that front. What are you doing right now?”

  I glanced at the screen, then at the book I’d accidentally absconded with from the café. “Um, reading.”

  “Anything good?”

  “I’m sure it will be, but I’m not in deep enough yet to say for sure.”

  “So go deeper,” he urged, his voice vibrating through the speaker and into my chest. “What kind of story is it?”

  “A mystery.” I breathed wistfully, tugging my hair. “I want to know more.”

  “Mm. I hope the ending isn’t disappointing.”

  “I can’t imagine it would be. I think it has the potential to be my favorite.” I stroked the cover of the book, wondering if I should keep it as a memento of our first…almost date.

  It wasn’t even a date. I was crazy.

  I shook my head, sliding the book back onto the desk. “Um, how’s the bike? How’s that nonfiction, not-yet-published masterpiece going?”

  “It’s going. The bike and the novel. I’ve only taken the bike out for a few rides but, uh, it’s not broken anymore which means you did your job there. As for the writing…”

  He anxiously tapped the cursor up and down within the document. “It’s tolerable, I guess. I’m just feeling a little stuck.”

  I bit my lip, wishing I had his to chew instead. “Why don’t you read it to me?”

  “All 19,000, unedited words of it?”

  “I have time.”

  He laughed, but that time it felt like I was being shaken like a vending machine to see what tumbled loose. “Yeah, but I don’t have the minutes, and I doubt you have the patience. Especially for a true crime book about a town you just moved to.”

  “It might help me get to know West Ridge a little better.”

  “You want to know the dark parts?”

  “I want to know everything.” My nail traced the vein in my wooden desk, imagining his neck underneath instead. “Tell me what makes its heart beat.”

  He highlighted the most recent sentence, moving it around, tension rising slowly. “How about I read you the first page and you let me know how it strikes you?”

  “I’ll take it.”

  His voice was like velvet, being wrapped in moonlight and submerged underwater until all that mattered was his little universe. Almost as an afterthought, I put him on speaker and recorded his reading, trying to keep the want out of my voice as I gave him feedback and gently suggested edits that didn’t betray the punctuation I could see on the screen.

  “You have a soothing voice,” I mused after the next passage.

  His chuckle was dry, almost a bark, and I wondered if he needed another cup of coffee. “Most people tell me it’s annoying.”

  “It’s probably because of what
you’re telling them.” He made a small noise, a scoff. So he was sarcastic, or at the very least, a little cynical. I could understand that. “Most people don’t like to be faced with the harsher side of the truth.”

  He cleared his throat, his voice tighter and measured. “Yeah, not everyone’s ready to own their responsibilities. Or reality, for that matter.”

  Feeling adrift, I laid my head on my desk. “There are all kinds of reality.”

  “Really? There’s only one I’m living in.”

  Was there only one reality? Were we a part of it?

  “Well… maybe you need an escape. Or something to distract you from it,” I mused, poking the cotton ball through the Ziploc bag. Starting, I sat up straighter. That was probably a bizarre thing to say. “I mean, maybe the reason I liked hearing your voice is because you're showing me a beautiful lens on reality. Your nonfiction. Words. Also, your voice is very commanding.”

  “You like that?”

  I bit my lip, wondering how candid we were going to be with each other—if I could ask him to tell me what to do, how to make him happy. “The world feels a little more beautiful when you’re the one describing it.”

  “Wow. I should get your review for my inside jacket, assuming I ever get the thing published.”

  “You will.”

  I pulled up a short video I took of him at Sidewinders. He rocked the pool balls into each other, then slammed them across the table, scattering them into their respective holes. He took the eight ball and knocked on the green felt four times, lost in thought. Lost in a rhythm.

  “Maybe if I can get the right editor to wrangle the thoughts in my head…” He laughed in real time, sounding a little weary, self-deprecating. “Someone has to make sense of my semicolons.”

  Yes. They certainly did.

  “Anyway,” he continued, clearing his throat. “Since you’ve been so generous with your feedback, I think it’s only fair I tell you there is a great place to write outside of West Ridge, should you ever find yourself craving coffee and quiet. Living in a small town like this can be… well, people are usually watching.”

  My chest constricted. “Are they?”

  They would see right through me, right to the freak I was.

  But maybe all that scrutiny meant Reed didn’t mind another pair of eyes admiring him from afar, which was where I should be for both of our safety. I was probably overthinking. I needed to focus on what he was actually saying and showing me.

  “Feels that way. Maybe it’s the leather. Anyway, um, the muffins are great. I can personally recommend the banana-nut.”

  “Okay, thanks.” My mind was going a million miles a minute, so I didn’t even think about it as I realized, “I need a replacement for my family’s cranberry muffin recipe.”

  “You bake?” He sounded surprised, maybe pleased.

  “That was a long time ago.” I needed to get off the phone and change the subject ASAP. “Anyway, I have to go, but I, uh, just wanted to check in.”

  “Any time,” Reed said, and I believed him.

  He watched Some Kind of Wonderful as he fell asleep, or at least that’s what I guessed. It was pretty late to be just starting a movie. I didn’t know many guys who would have the movie readily available, either. Maybe he was the passed-over best friend in high school or maybe he pined for a girl out of his league or maybe he just liked extravagant shows of affection.

  That was the dream, the craving. Soul-rending declarations. Loyalty that lasted a lifetime.

  I wiped the tear that slid down my cheek.

  My life wasn’t bad by any means since I got free. It wouldn’t always be lonely. I wasn’t sure why these feelings kept pouring out of me.

  I redirected my attention onto John Hughes’ examination of a tortured, teenage suburbia, kind of like the one I grew up in.

  I watched the film unfold with him, guessing when he laughed, what trivia he might know. To my surprise, he disrupted the flow of the film and went back to the scene in the garage where the then-platonic friends tested out their first kiss. Was he trying to get tips? Was he thinking about me? I could only hope he’d imagine me in tattered-up jeans, wearing his leather while I tested his ‘amateur lips’. Maybe the mechanic’s jumpsuit the guy was wearing gave Reed vibes about mechanics like me. Reed dressed more like the punk-ish eventual girlfriend. What I’d give to be his friend and fantasy.

  Fascinated, I touched my lips, listening intently as the girl onscreen instructed her mechanic friend to put his hands on her hips. I watched with rapture as the girl’s fingers delved lightly into his hair.

  Oh, the things I’d like to do with Reed. I could be gentle. I could be kind. I could let him take me.

  I waited for the rewind again, but that time he didn’t go back. He’d probably fallen asleep. It was late, 3 a.m.

  What was on his mind that he couldn’t sleep?

  My hair was down, loose for bed, but I tied it back and atop my head as I tentatively opened a Word document on his screen.

  “Hello?” I typed. No response.

  That was perfect.

  I saved a copy of his original novel and then went into his main document for editing. To my delight, he’d left a ‘Hello, stranger’ under mine on its own line with an asterisk and question mark next to it. I added ‘<3’ as a little inside joke between us. Maybe he would get it. Maybe not. This could be our secret language.

  The rest of the document awaited my attention. Sorting out his semicolons was the least I could do.

  I was beyond exhausted the next day, but a certain buzz lingered in my chest as I rolled under the cars, pushing absently with my heel. The beat of my obsession thrummed in my heart to the words and tune of Pat Benatar’s, “We Belong.”

  Still half in a dream, imagining his dirty jeans and combat boots tapping against the station bench, I heard my phone chime and saw it was a text from Reed.

  Did he know that our song was playing?

  ‘Muses can be temperamental things, but mine seems to be on my side today. Did you try the café yet?’

  I brought my phone to my chest, smiling in relief. I couldn’t wait to go home and read his progress.

  ‘Not yet, Reedsy. Late night and early start. Although I was thinking of trying it early tomorrow before I run my errands.’

  ‘I think you’re the only person to call me Reedsy since I was five.’

  My muscles clenched hard, bracing for impact. A slap. A ruler. My nails in my skin. ‘Do you not like it?’

  ‘My childhood? Sucked. But I think I’d have to hear you calling me Reedsy in person to get a real sense of the nickname.’

  Confused, I stared at the screen, heart pounding in my ears. Was I allowed to ask about his childhood? Or was that an invitation?

  Taking a chance, I dared to present an opportunity. ‘I’ll be at the café around seven if you’re curious.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  I blinked expectantly at the ellipses on my screen as he typed a follow-up.

  ‘And by that, I mean I will attempt not to be a terrible distraction from what I’m guessing would be an otherwise productive morning.’

  I giggled, tongue pressing against my teeth. ‘Can’t wait.’

  My gloves’ slick with grease throughout the day, reminded me of his ink. Maybe we could transfer it to each other: our stains, our affection. Everything we knew, everything we felt could be made better when we shared it.

  Our song kept playing in my heart and my head.

  3

  Deny

  If I could get my errands out of the way, I’d have more time to spend with Reed at the café the next day. My fingers curled around the sweaty bills in my pocket. A lot of people in West Park seemed to prefer to deal in cash, which meant I had a lot of bills to use. It’d probably be smart to bring the bulk of it to the bank just in case someone passing through tried to hit me or my business.

  I probably shouldn’t think like that. People weren’t going to come after me or the
life I was building.

  They didn’t know where I was. They didn’t want me. Not really.

  I took a deep breath and tried to think about something else to fight the quivering nausea building up in my gut.

  Cash was tangible and pragmatic.

  Exhaustion pressed from behind my eyeballs and I tried to push it back with my fist. I was still so tired from staying up to edit Reed’s manuscript and watch the movie. But I needed to do that.

  It was more productive than sleeping, anyway. It helped him.

  Or was I just running myself ragged for my sick obsession?

  “Hey. Betty?”

  Starting, I turned in the aisle. No one knew me here.

  But it was him.

  Reed stood in the cereal aisle with a curiously optimistic expression. How could he be in the same place as me and I didn’t even know? Being in his presence was like feeling the warmth of the sun and the relief of the rain.

  “Reed.”

  My breathless wonder would give me away.

  I snapped into a smile, stepping back and curling my fists into the pockets of my black hoodie to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

  “I promise I’m not stalking you.” He chuckled, leaning against the aisle divide in such a way he was bizarrely framed by a cartoon captain and bunny. My heart throbbed painfully. “West Ridge is kinda on the small side. One grocery store.” He wiggled his basket as if for proof that we were, in fact, both shopping for food.

  His earnestness cracked into my panic, letting it seep out and replacing it with yearning. “Are there any more Reeds?”

  “None quite like me.” His smirk was big enough to make my toes curl in my shoes. “This town couldn’t handle any more of us. Although technically, it’s kind of a family name.”

  “Really? You seem to own it like it was meant for you.”

  “It is.” He wandered a little closer, eyeing me and the cereal I still hadn’t selected. “And, uh, you’re the only Betty, in case you were wondering.”